I Drink To Forget
by Jolie.Mots
Summary: I started the tradition by telling myself it was in their remembrance, but I know deep down that I don't drink to remember them; I drink to forget. A one-shot from Haymitch's POV of the reaping. Please read and review!
It burns.

It burns all the way down, burning away everything except what I wish it to burn.

A drink for every tribute I have lost. I haven't been able to manage a drink for each tribute in a long time; usually I just lose consciousness without really keeping count. But the effort is there, especially now that if I ever do accomplish the feat, death by alcohol poisoning is a certainty. Ripper's white liquor is unforgiving.

I started the tradition by telling myself it was in their remembrance, but I know deep down that I don't drink to remember them; I drink to forget. And yet it never works. Their faces are always there, emblazoned on my brain, regardless of how much alcohol I consume in an attempt to wash them away.

 _Myra Dennel. 15 years old. Lived in the Seam with her parents and older brother. Dad had lost a limb in a mining accident and both Myra and her brother had taken Tesserae to keep from starving. Kind gray eyes, lovely black curls. Sweet as honey, yet hardened by life. Terrified, yet surviving._

 _Dyson Teller. 17 years old. Also a Seam kid, but he had been spared the need of Tessera. He was an only kid and it was just him and his dad, who worked so hard to keep his son from the Games. And failed. Tall, but scrawny. Tough, but weakened by lack of food. Eyes like steel and hair buzzed short._

Neither of them really stood a chance considering the fact that they had never picked up a weapon and their strength was limited, what with their lack of a proper diet. Not to mention the fact that they had me for a mentor, a mere year removed from my own Games, which had been shortly followed by the obliteration of everything and everyone I had cared for. They are two of the poor kids I have always felt the worst about.

They are always the first fallen tributes I drink to, especially today. Today. The worst day of the year. The day I meet the next two children I will lead to death.

Reaping day.

I search around the room I happened to fall asleep in last night, which is the once-lavish sitting room, now drabbed down after so many years of disuse and abuse. It is hard to focus on the clock through the haze of drunkenness, but when I do, I realize I am already late. Not that I care to be prompt for the Capitol.

At the beginning of my mentoring career, the Capitol had always sent an attendant and a prep team to shine me up, dress me up, and make sure I was on time to the Reaping. That didn't last too long, since every attendant had refused to take up the job for a second year. It might have had something to do with my tendency to swipe a knife in the direction of anyone who wakes me up. And either the Capitol ran out of people to send or they simply gave up; whatever the reason, I was just glad to not have to deal with those frilly creatures who always had wanted to stuff me into some kind of gaudy monkey suit.

So here I am, sidling down the pathway that takes me out of the Victor's Village, back to the harsh, coal-dusted reality that is District 12.

Everyone is already congregated, and I see the stage steps, but there seems to be three sets of stairs...that can't be right. It's all a bit of a blur, nothing much registering except for the fact that I have made it just in time for my name. Somehow, I pick the right set of stairs.

I fall into the first empty chair that I find and look around. People seem to be looking at me…am I supposed to do something? I am not sure, it's so hard to focus right now; just the way I prefer it.

"Pull yourself together." I hear a hissing noise to my right and look over. The brightness of the character beside me assaults my eyes and I know it can be none other than dear Effie Trinket, the woman who comes to escort our children to their doom and me to my hell.

She is both repulsed and repulsive, representing everything that I hate. The Capitol wants a show, eh? I throw my arms around her in response, and she flutters, trying to bat me away, making disgusted noises in the back of her throat. I must smell horrible.

When I resurface, the attention seems to have been diverted elsewhere. I can barely make sense of my own thoughts, much less the words being spoken, making a mockery of our suffering. Suddenly, Effie bounces up out of her chair, certainly more than thrilled to be away from my stinking side. Her voice is just as cutting to my ears as her appearance is to my eyes. That awful Capitol accent…it dredges up the rage, the sorrow, the ache, everything I had just managed to douse in fermentation brought up by this disgusting creature.

"Ladies first!"

The only reason those words manage to not be the garbled mess I had heard before was that my brain had been well trained to recognize the cues that meant great pain was coming. She was going to pick the poor little girl who would die.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I do not know this name, just as I don't know most of the names of these kids. It is by intention that I avoid knowing. But I see her. Through the haze of my mind, I manage to see her wispy figure emerge from the group, her wide blue eyes unable to hide her fear, her blonde hair suggesting that she is probably a merchant's child. But perhaps not. Her clothes are ill-fitted, and the older girl now barreling through to the kid is clearly all Seam.

"Prim!"

I close my eyes at the desperation, the grief in that strangled cry.

"I volunteer!" the girls are nearly to the stage and I look down at them, "I volunteer as tribute!"

 _Stupid girl_ , I immediately harden myself to her. _Stupid, stupid girl._

There is a lot of commotion around me.

"Should we consult the officials?"

"Formality, it needs to be done formally…"

"The technical rule is…."

Effie's voice is clear above them all, "Lovely! But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um…"

I turn cold eyes on the bumbling figure, looking frantically at all on stage for instruction. The mayor finally responds, "What does it matter?" his voice is pained, "What does it matter? Let her come forward."

There is a great commotion now at the foot of the stage. _What does it matter?_ I want to echo the mayor's words, but for a different reason. _Why all the fuss? By the looks of all of you, you will die of starvation anyway. What does it matter which of you dies in the games?_

But eventually, Effie, beaming amidst the sorrowful chaos, introduces the freshly minted tribute. Katniss Everdeen, apparently. Yes, it is her sister. Pity that the younger will have to live the rest of her life knowing that her sister died for her. Blood on her hands; that is all she will see for all the days that this Katniss has bought for her. Bought for her with her own life.

It is not an existence I would wish on anyone, particularly someone so young and fragile-looking. Maybe there is a chance she will die soon and be put out of her misery. Lucky little girl.

The people of district 12 do not applaud for Katniss Everdeen. They do something they might think to be rebellious, or touching, perhaps. A cute gesture, that is what the people send off one of their children with. But no matter; at least they aren't continuing on with the script of this ridiculous charade.

I decide to go along with that theme.

Before I can register what I am doing, I find my arm around the skinny shoulders of my tribute. "Look at her! Look at this one!" And I can see their eyes shifting from my face to the girl's.

"I like her! Lots of…" I search for the right word, but my brain seems to have slowed to half-time speed, "…spunk!" I notice the roving cameras, all pointed in our directions. Ah, yes…they are all watching. What a perfect opportunity, "More than you! More than you!"

Suddenly, all the years and words I've harbored come flooding up, and I want to tell them all. I want them to see me closer, to see who is responsible for their-

The ground seems to fall away, and that is the last thing I see before everything goes black.


End file.
